Tumblin' Dice by John McFetridge Page A

shooters for sure, and Gayle got the feeling the guy meant it. Shit.
    She got up and walked to the little kitchen saying, “You want more coffee?” The condo was brand new, but the building used to be offices. They’d paid more for the two-bedroom, two-bathroom unit than they did for a four-bedroom house and a barn on fifty acres out by Napanee. Gayle liked the new big money, too.
    She poured herself another cup thinking she knew Nugs liked the idea of moving into the casinos in Ontario, this Huron Woods and Niagara Falls and Windsor, they were in his own backyard after all, but she knew better than to sound like she was the one making the move. Maybe these guys don’t ride motorcycles anymore, and maybe they look more like businessmen, but they’re still old-fashioned when it comes to the chicks.
    Back in the living room Danny’d changed the channel and they were watching sports, some guy talking about the Leafs, all they ever talked about. Gayle watched for a minute, wanting to say something about this Frank Kloss looking like a great contact, but she waited. Finally Nugs said, “It’s good to have another source to move the cash,” and Danny said yeah.
    Nugs said, “That fucking Russell Akbarali and the MoneyChangers, I don’t know.”
    â€œHe’s okay,” Danny said. “But you need more sources.”
    This was good, Gayle seeing her men talk business. It seemed like more and more she’d been pushing them. They’d gone along with the guys from Montreal, then gotten rid of the top guy, the French guy Richard, and now Nugs was national president.
    Nugs said, “You think this Frank Kloss can move a lot more?” Looking right at Gayle.
    She saw Danny still staring at the flat screen, glued to the highlights, another season of the Leafs missing the playoffs, and she said, “Yeah, probably.”
    â€œWell,” Nugs said, “J.T. and his boys are up there now, taking over the dope. When can we move girls into the hotel?”
    â€œAnytime, I guess,” Gayle said.
    â€œWe can set it up like the Club International out by the airport, get the charge added to the restaurant bill, biz boys can expense it.”
    â€œOr at least do it through work,” Gayle said, “not their personal credit cards the wife might see.”
    â€œOkay, sounds good,” Nugs said, not even looking at Danny, doing his business with Gayle.
    She was liking it, seeing how it could really work out.
    Just have to be careful with these guys.
    â€¢ • •
    On the way to the bathroom in the back of the club J.T. handed the stripper who said her name was Valerie, her real name she’d said, the pack of smokes with the coke in it. She’d said to him, just wait in the VIP room, she’d be right back.
    J.T. watched her go into the bathroom, the other stripper holding the door for her saying, “How come we always do it off the toilet?” and Valerie saying, because the sink is always wet. Before the door closed she stuck her head out and said, “You want us both?” and J.T. said, no, just you.
    The middle of the afternoon and the Adderly Hotel, a hundred-year-old fleabag that’d gotten even worse when the Huron Woods Casino opened up ten miles down the highway, was almost empty. Bartender, bouncer who looked asleep, three or four guys sitting in the dark, one chick onstage and these two in the can. J.T.’s guys would be there in a half hour.
    Twenty minutes in the VIP — a few booths boarded off by the bathrooms — and J.T. was sitting at a table with his guys, Boner and Gizz, and a couple of hangarounds, glad to see they were early. He told them the shipment was coming in from Montreal in a car, a guy and a girl bringing it, and one of the hangarounds wanted to know if the information was reliable.
    J.T. gave him a look, that’s all, just enough to shut him up and make him think about what he said.
    The music